His Final Story
by wistfulwatcher
Summary: His ambition is wrapped up with hers, and she's been getting so many more offers from Hollywood recently. It worries him. W/R, W/T, W/E, written for the glee remix challenge on LJ.


A/N: Written for glee remix challenge. Must read dropsofviolet's "Seven" first: storypaint[dot]livejournal[dot]com/322304[dot]html

There's a twisting in Will's gut as he sits in the front row of the house, the theatre lights still bright as patrons file in. He's excited, of course, but also nervous, the same way he is at the start of every opening night.

The bowtie is tight on his neck and he pulls at it, making sure to smile as people watch him, passing by to take their own seats. Next to him Terri is beaming, so proud of her husband for the public, but her lips are quivering with the charade and their arms rest far apart on the seats.

With a hand over his mouth Will looks to the right and up, searching for the elegant red hair he knows will be there. When he finds Emma he sighs, the tension abating a little, as he realizes she's here alone, that Ken stayed home.

"I'm so excited for us, Will!" Terri drones at his side, but he just hears _I'm so proud of you, Will_, in Emma's sweet voice, the one he longs to hear when the curtain falls.

Will thinks of Quinn, at home with Anna, and feels the slightest twinge of guilt. It is not just his story they will be seeing tonight, of course. But Quinn had waved him off, told him she would go soon, when Will could stay home with Anna.

He thinks she couldn't bear to be sitting next to him, couldn't relive all of the mistakes with the man who recorded them. It's better this way, he thinks, because he made a lot of mistakes, too, and Quinn seems to remember just about all of them, even if she's too polite to let it show.

Looking to the aisle, he sees Kurt scurrying over, the lights starting to dim, and Kurt just shakes his head. "She cannot be making demands five minutes before the show starts, Will." He doesn't need to ask to know that Kurt's talking about Rachel, but he offers a shy smile anyway, which becomes a grimace as he catches sight of the sequin clinging to Kurt's pant leg.

"Please tell me you didn't _add _more sequins, Kurt." The lights dim further and only the faint glimmer of shine can be seen now.

"Shh," Kurt holds a finger to his mouth and Will leans back against the seat, a program crumpled slightly in his hand.

The overture begins and his stomach tightens, but when he looks up at Emma he can no longer make her out. Kurt is by Will's side though, his fingers tapping slightly against his knee, and he lets out a small breath, thankful for the support. On his other side Terri's fake smile has fallen, no longer needed in the dark theatre.

When Rachel enters (and his fears are realized—_more_ sequins), his breath catches. She is the embodiment of his efforts, always, and he finds that her familiar face both sooths and terrifies him. His ambition is wrapped up with hers, and she's been getting so many more offers from Hollywood recently. It worries him.

But then she opens her mouth, starts to sing, and it is _Somebody to Love_ and _Don't Rain on My Parade_ and _On My Own_ all over again. It's more, too; because these are his words for her, it's their story now, and his fears abate, just a little.

The curtain call is long, and emotional. He's crying and he hopes she won't point to him, won't give him a bouquet, but she always does. Still, when he takes the flowers from her and loops his arm around her waist as he hugs her quickly, he blinks hard, and whispers in her ear, "Thank you."

It's the same every opening night, but now it's more, it's closure. This, this was the story he's been working up to, the one that's been so personal for so long.

He's calmed down by the after-party, where he sits at a small round table with Terri. She's silent, except for the occasional comment that he ignores. Sometimes it's nice, but most of the time it's not, and he's finally learned that it's better just to ignore all of it.

Kurt comes over with three glasses of champagne perched precariously in his small hands, and Will takes one, grateful to have a distraction from his wife. Terri waves the flute he offers her away, sniping that they're still trying to get pregnant and if it's going to happen she better go home now, and get some rest.

Will replies, of course, she should leave, but he has to stay, and would it be alright if he had the car come pick her up? She's not pleased with his reply but she accepts it, and leaves the ballroom.

He drinks champagne with his costume designer and former student, and leans back in his chair. He's untied his bowtie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his white shirt. "Why did she need a sequined vest, too?"

Kurt has the decency to look a little guilty before he gestures slowly with his champagne. "Look, if I'm going to put my reputation on the line for you, I'm going to do it completely. Besides, she needed a little sparkle in that scene, she got lost in the sea of jerseys."

He laughs casually, not knowing which was more endearing; that Kurt was trying to _help_ Rachel or that he thought it was possible to lose her on a stage. "I promise next time I'll stay within budget," he smiles, and Will tilts his head, curiously. "There will be a next time, right, Will?"

Kurt sounds a little concerned, so Will just stands, squeezes the designer's shoulder and sets his empty glass down on the table. As he makes his way to the bar, he catches a glimpse of red hair to his right. "Emma," he knows the grin on his face is dopey, but he'd just had a glass of champagne and opened a new musical, so he thinks she can let it slide.

"Will, hi." They walk toward each other, slowly, and Will runs his hand down her arm.

"You look beautiful, Em." She giggles, and pulls back a little. His hand drops from her bare skin and she shifts.

"Thanks. You do, too. Handsome, I mean. You look handsome, of course you always look," and she's rambling like always. When he tries to take her hand she pulls back a little, finishes the movement by tucking her hair behind her ear like it was what she meant to do in the first place. "Ken, he couldn't come." She shrugged, "He wanted to. I'll tell him he missed an amazing show."

Will smiles and shifts back, uncomfortable with their dynamic in public. He isn't sure what they are but they're something, and he wants to share his win, their success tonight. "I'm glad you could come."

She smiles, softens, and then looks sad when she adds, "I really enjoyed it, Will. I better get going. Ken seemed a little anxious about," and she doesn't have to finish. He understands.

With a tentative half step he kisses her on the cheek, and she steps back, turns.

When he finally reaches the bar he gets a glass of scotch and leans against the bar, scanning the crowd. It's a lot of people he knows but very few he cares about. He keeps scanning until a waiter moves and he sees Rachel, laughing with a delicate flick of her wrist with some suit.

It worries him that it might be another Hollywood rep, that it might be the one that finally takes his star from him forever, but she glances over to him and her laughter fades. She's across the room but she's keeping his eyes, and he makes his way over there quickly.

"Can I steal my star away?" and it's playful but also not a question as he leads her by her lower back. He walks her over to his table, where Kurt has now abandoned, and feels the silky fabric of her dress press against his side.

The skirt is past her knees, is too long to associate with the teen he just witnessed on stage, but the smile is the same, mostly hopeful with an edge of pain. "You were amazing," he whispers as he sits her down, takes the other chair next to her.

It's nothing they haven't done before, sat alone, and he knows that the tabloids like to insinuate things about their relationship. "You wrote a beautiful musical, Mr. Schuester."

But she still calls him that and they are nothing more than they've ever been, except now he thinks they understand each other better.

"Hollywood calling you back, already?" She smiles, looks down at her lap, and he waves over a waiter to get her a glass of champagne.

"Not yet. I told them they have to wait, just a little longer." She's holding something back, behind the lip of the champagne flute, but he isn't sure how to ask, if he can. "May I ask why I was shoved into a _sequined_ pink vest in the beginning of the second act? I'll have Kurt know I would _never_ wear such an atrocious outfit."

He laughs and leans back, keeping it to himself that he has a picture from glee that would beg to differ.

When he looks back at her she's drained half the glass and there seems to be something in her eyes. "You called me your star," and it's a question.

"You've always been my star, Rach."

She takes another sip, stands. "The musical was about Quinn." She starts to walk away, and he wonders why she hasn't fought him on this point until now. That had never been something she shied from.

He leaves his half-finished glass on the table and stands, too. He catches her easily, takes her wrist and leads her to the dance floor. "Dance with me," he murmurs, hoping she lets him. Emma's gone and Kurt is mingling, and the only other person he wants to spend his victory with is in front of him.

She sighs dramatically but fits herself against him, her hands settling on his shoulders as he sways them. Her eyes are staring directly at his, and he thinks the stance is a little middle-school, so he slides one hand from his shoulder and twirls her before bringing them back, face to face.

There's a smile she's trying to stop when she repeats, "The musical was about Quinn. My character was—"

"Necessary," and he's cutting her off, she hates it, but he spins her and she doesn't yell at him, so he does it again.

The suit he saw is hesitating at the edge of the dance floor, and he squeezes her hand. "What project did they offer you?"

"A long one," is her only answer, but her eyes are dark and he thinks this might be it, the last time she gives him a bouquet on opening night. "Will," his ears perk up at the use of his first name, "there be another musical, Mr. Schuester?"

He realizes his false assumption and shrugs his shoulders. "Are you going to accept?"

There've been a lot of questions between them but not many answers. She shrugs back at him and drops her hands, standing still in front of him. She's tall, and he notices the fashionable heels she wears. He wonders why, exactly, she keeps taking roles for him.

"The musical was about Quinn," but it's not bitter, just a statement. She pats his chest and turns. The skirt of her dress flows like he remembers.

When he wakes up the next morning, Terri still asleep beside him, he stands, gets the newspaper from the deck. He flips quickly to the arts section and breathes a sigh of relief before a smile crosses his face.

_Musical phenomenon, William Schuester, premiered his newest show last night at Broadway's Imperial Theatre: _Glee!_ The musical follows the lives of several high school students as they form a rag-tag glee club led by an inexperienced director._

_Schuester, whose previous credits include the hit musicals _Empty Kitchen _and _Gumshoe, _based his newest work on his own experience as the director of a high school glee club._

Glee!_ is an empowering tale, featuring several of Schuester's regular cast and crew, and phenomenal book and lyrics. _

_While the overall story focuses on several individual characters, the bulk of the plot revolves around one of the reluctant glee-clubbers, who finds herself in a sticky situation. Schuester explores the idea of teen pregnancy in a light-hearted, but honest way, detailing the struggle in a modern high school._

_However, the show is stolen, once again, by Rachel Berry, Schuester's regular lead. Her character opens the musical, delivering an emotional solo number, in a distracting, yet somehow endearing, sequined ensemble._

_It's clear, despite the lack of stage-time, that this is the tale of Rachel Berry. When you come, be sure to bring tissues in preparation for "So Many Mistakes," the powerhouse ballad Berry delivers at the end of the first act, alone on stage, her bizarre wardrobe traded for a plain black dress. The perfection of the scene will be sure to haunt you well out of the theatre._

_I'm sure I speak for the whole of Broadway when I say that I hope to continue to see more from Schuester and Berry for years to come._


End file.
